Save Him
by lettersinthesky
Summary: He just needed someone to tell him that, yeah, he was worth it. And he wanted to prove to him that, yeah, he was. Slash.
1. Prologue

This story is very close to home, since, yes, I am a cutter, and yes, I am clinically depressed. It's going to be depressing and loving and a huge roller coaster. Also, this will be my first chapter story! Woo! I promise to try and stay on task and put out as many chapters that I can as fast as I can.

It's my senior year this year, so all I have to worry about is my SAT's...which I really don't care about...yayyyy.

Alright, so, enjoy!

* * *

_Sweets;_

I don't think it's possible for one person to hold this much hurt.

Every glance in the mirror, every comparison to someone much more worthy of living, every insecure glance, it just builds up like a soda bottle.

I don't know when, but that bottle is going to pop and it's only a matter of time before everything comes crashing down. And after that, there will be no more pain, and no more hate and rejection and insecurities, and all the pain that I have ever felt will cease to exist.

Everything will go black and I'll be fine,

I won't feel anything and I'll be just fine.

It's only a matter of time.

* * *

Just a little taste.


	2. Red

Yay for updates! I had to get this story going, but right now I'm not sure how it's going to get to where I want it to...

But I decided to give you guys a little something, something.

* * *

When I was younger, I was obsessed with balloons, especially red ones. I would love to blow them up and let them float to the top of my room, their strings dangling down and tickling my face. My room was filled with them; every inch of the white ceiling was covered with red. I would save up my allowance to go and buy a pack of red balloons and get them filled with helium at the local market. Every Sunday, after church, I would run over while my aunt and uncle were having coffee and cake with their friends after the sermon. They thought it was the strangest thing, but they figured if I wasn't hurting anyone and I was happy, they'd let me continue with the strange tradition.

I loved the way they looked as the sun was setting, they reminded me of freedom.

I wanted to be a balloon, I wanted to float above everything and just float as high as I could and just sit there, all pretty and red.

I grew less obsessed as the years went by, but till this day, I still buy red balloons every Sunday.

Red, I've always loved the color red. It's bold and obvious and represents things that are sensual and hot and dangerous. Something that I can never be, something that isn't me at all.

The cuts on my arms and legs, they're red. They're bright, angry, red, the kind of red that hurts so much, it soothes you.

Here, under my desk, when no one's around, I slip my hand under my sleeve and run my fingers along the rough jagged lines.

They make me feel better, they keep me calm when I'm in public and can't cut.

Like the balloons, I can never get enough red.

* * *

See, nothing too big, just promise me you'll stay around for the rest?

Love you!


	3. The House

That's right, two in one day! I'm so proud of myself!

I really love this story so far...I think it has more thought than all my stories combined...what do you guys thing?

* * *

We've been here for a while, at this little white beach house on Tybee Island, Georgia. It was perfect, the backyard was a beach and the front yard had luscious green trees and a small garden.

Booth wouldn't let us leave until I was "better", until I stopped hurting myself. But I don't know how to be "better", and I don't think I want to be "better".

We left about two weeks ago, he came over unexpectedly one evening after work and caught me getting dressed. He saw the red scars and started crying, I didn't think he was the kind of guy who cried. I couldn't tell at first, his face was completely calm and stoic, but I saw his eyes glisten, and then there were tears. His face stayed the same, so calm, as he walked closer, but then his face changed. Suddenly he was angry, livid, "Why would you do this to yourself?, he spit the words dangerously. I didn't give him an answer; I just continued to get dressed.

He grabbed me and told me to pack my things, and he stood there and watched as I did as I was told. He didn't let me out of his sight.

Then he picked up my bags and piled them into his car.

We drove to his house and he held my hand as we walked inside, I sat on his bed while he shoved clothes and CDs and snacks into his suitcases.

We were going somewhere, I knew that, I just didn't care. I knew I would be safe with him, I always was, there was nothing to worry about, I let him take me away. I gave him the reigns, I'm not sure I could handle controlling them anyways.

We drove for a while, about 5 hours, when we finally got here. We drove up to a perfectly perfect white house, you could hear the waves crashing in the background and the smell of sea salt, flowers and fried food blew in the air. It was the perfect weather, and the perfect distance from the small board walk we past. It was one of three houses on the street, all different, but all the same. There were lights hanging from the trees in the front yard, and I could see the back porch a lit with lights as well.

Perfect.

I took a deep breath and smiled a little, turning to look at Booth, who was watching me take it all in.

"Why are we here?" I asked in a quiet voice, glancing down at the hand that's been attached to mine the whole way here, so tan and vibrant against my pale and cold one.

He sighed, too, "I just…I wanted to be with you…alone. So I could…help you, and try to fix whatever it is that is wrong," his thumb was caressing my hand as he spoke. "I come here whenever I'm upset about something, or need some time to myself," He was staring ahead of him, watching the waves." I bought this place about 10 years ago, and dedicated half of that time to fixing it up. It only helped the healing process, knowing that I made this place, and that it's all mine, and that it would never change unless I wanted it to." He turned to look at me, "I thought…maybe it could help you, too?" He sighed again, and moved close to me, "I don't know, what's going on, or how long it's been going on, but all I saw was bright red scars, and…" he moved closer, " I freaked, I thought to myself, 'I have to fix this,' and I immediately thought of this place, and how it made everything better for me. " He looked at me, emotions playing on his face, "I'm sorry for being so brash…I should have asked you…" He looked down at my mouth, his eyes flickering to mine before glancing back down, "I'm sorry, we can leave…"

Our eyes locked, and I shook my head, "No…I like it…" my voice was breathy and soft and so lifeless.

I knew I needed to be here, I don't know what will happen when we leave, or when we go inside, but I knew that I needed to be here, with him.

For the first time, his lips were on mine, I felt the softest pressure and then warmth suddenly spread through my body. I felt my cheeks heat up and heard my heartbeat in my ears. It was perfect. He pulled away and tugged on my hand, "Come on, let's go inside."

We walked up the walk way, between the small garden to the front door. The inside of the house was so welcoming, I needed a moment to take it all in.

All the furniture was either white or crème or a faded blue and yellow. The floors were mostly carpeted, except for the halls, which were incredibly shiny and wood. The kitchen and the living room were connected, and there was a huge window that was covered by a giant heavy looking white blind that I assumed lead to the back yard. There was a long hallway that lead to four rooms, and then around the corner to the den.

I fell in love with it that house, it changed me, and everything I thought about…everything.

The first night, I didn't go to sleep, I stayed outside, sat in a giant porch chair and snuggled up into a heavy comforter as I watched the waves.

Booth made us pasta and garlic bread, we ate in silence, his eyes never peeling off of me.

He kissed me again, just a soft peck, before taking my bags and showing me to my room, which was right across from his. He said I could sleep with him if I wanted, and I intended to take him up on that offer.

But even though my body was tired, my mind was not.

I stayed up thinking about Booths lips on mine, and how they felt and how when we kissed, I felt alive and normal and warm. I thought about the other people who have kissed me and how I didn't feel those things, I just felt lips. My old college professor who thought I was beautiful, Mike Carpenter, when we were fifteen after he said he wanted to marry me. Alice Livstun, while playing spin the bottle.

I thought about the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and how Booth planned to "help" me. I don't know if he could, but for some reason, I was going to let him try.

* * *

So, how do you feel about it?


	4. Space

Sorry! I know! I suck! But it's hard to find inspiration and not hate everything I write! But here I am, one chapter at a time.

Promise not to hate me?

Thaaaank youuuu.

Also, I know that it doesn't take 5 hours to get to Tybee Island from Washington, hell, it takes me 5 hours to get to Tybee and I **_live_** in Georgia.

But really, what fun is a week long, nonstop, drive full of silence?

…Exactly.

Anyways, enjoy!

And if you ever get the chance to visit Tybee, please, do! It's beautiful!

* * *

The next day I woke up with some serious pain in my neck, the sun beautifully bright against the ocean and my tired eyes. I could feel salt on my lips and my cheeks were sore from the winds harsh blows. I got up to stretch when I heard the door slide open behind me, turning my head I'm met with a beautiful sight. Booth is standing there, shirtless, holding the curtain open for me to pass through, with an amused smirk on his face.

"Sorry," I mumble as I make my way inside.

"Don't be," he slides the door shut again, but opens the blinds, letting the sun in. "The first week I moved in, I slept out there every night."

I sat down at the dining table, watching Booth make his way around the kitchen. Watching the way the muscles in his back tensed and moved as he made coffee.

I still didn't understand why he would drop his life to help me. I still don't understand how he thought he was going to help me. He was so…willing to do all of this for me. It was…confusing, at best.

"Hey, Booth?" I called, playing with the tattered strings of the comforter around my shoulders.

"Yeah?" He mumbled, turning around with two cups of steaming coffee in his hands. He set them down gracefully, and sat across from me, pulling my chair closer to his.

Prying my eyes away from the expanse of golden tan skin, I stumble through the words, "I don't…I don't get it. Why…what do you…hope to achieve with us being here? With me being here?" I slid the mug of coffee closer to me and took a sip. I let out a dry chuckle, "Even the coffee is perfect," I mumbled under my breath.

Booth tilted his head a little, and let out a chuckle of his own. He pulled my chair even closer, our legs intertwining now, his hand holding mine. He let out a sigh before smiling again, a little shy, before starting, "The first day you started working at the Jeffersonian, I knew that there was no way I would let you out of my life. You were so shy and tiny and perfect, I promised myself that I would do anything to protect you. The first day we spoke, I became a little possessive. You were so quirky and adorable and you weren't afraid to be yourself, but I could always tell there was something sad behind your eyes. You just wanted to fit in and find a place. We became friends, and I began watching you. "

He looked at me then, a warning glare laced with humor when he heard me laugh, but I said it anyways, "Stalker."

He chuckled, "Shut up, I was worried about you." He looked outside at the rising sun, "With reason, huh?" He looked over at me, his eyes holding anger and resentment, but still so open and welcoming.

"Why would you do that? Why would someone so smart and beautiful do that to themselves?" His eyes never left mine, he was looking for an answer.

I shook my head, whispering, "There's no textbook definition for what I feel, Booth. I can't tell you…because… I don't even know. It helps…that's all I can really say."

There was silence for a while, me in my thoughts and him in his. I realized it would always be this easy to talk to him, because he made it easy. He made is so there were no boundaries and there were no problems crossing the existing ones. It was a friends feeling, and that thought pulled at my stomach. To think that I would be here with no one but him, and to be so easily put into an environment to fall in love with him, and then never be able to have him, was not a pleasant thought. It's not like I think I can't get him, because I'm pretty sure he wants to be with me. With the kisses and the compliments, it would be easy to fall with him. But I could never let myself be the kind of person to just let go and fall in love. I'm not that kind of person. I can't be normal, not for myself, and not for anybody else. I was smarter than that; I studied for years about situational love. I wouldn't let myself be fooled by this beautiful place and man. It hurt, but I knew that falling in love would never happen. And even if it did, it wouldn't change a damn thing.

You could hear the waves through the open kitchen window, the smell of salt still heavy in the air. I could still taste it on my lips, it was a weird taste, but I liked it, for some reason. He looked over at me again, nodding his head. I knew this conversation was far from over, but he stood up and told me to get dressed, he had something to show me.

I made my way over to "my" room to take a shower and wash the cold sore feeling off my cheeks.

I got out of the shower and saw myself in the mirror for the first time in a long time.

I got it then why Booth freaked out. There wasn't a spot on my chest that wasn't covered with an angry red line or a porcelain white scar. My arms were worse; their markings were more angry and obvious.

I quickly walked out of the bathroom to get dressed, I didn't want to think about my scars, or how Booth knew about them. It just made me feel vulnerable and way too open. Those feelings weren't welcome anymore.

* * *

There was a large room, dethatched from the house, but still within a few steps of the back deck. He said it was a quiet space, a foyer, almost. It looked like a tiny guest house, but it was just a large expanse of space. He said it could be mine if I wanted, so I felt that I had some privacy.

There were huge windows, that reached the ceilings and touched the floors, on the opposing walls in the room, it was a replica of the house behind us. With flowy white curtains taped back and boxes pushed to the middle of the room, he pulled me into the room.

"Here," He hands me a brush and points to the paint canisters stacked against a freshly painted white wall.

I gave him a look, "Here…what?" Glancing at the brush in my hand then at the white wall.

"Paint." He says, nodding his head affirmatively.

I shook my head, "I don't understand…"

He walked away and called over his shoulder,"Nothing to understand. Just paint."

I stared at him in confusion still, "Paint…" The word sounding foreign on my tongue. I haven't painted since…freshman year in high school.

He chuckled and turned to look at me, "Paint." He nodded again,"Whatever you want."

He himself grabbed a brush and started painting a wall himself. I watched him for a while, painting the wall white first, then picking up a new brush and dipped it in blue paint.

"Stop watching me and paint." His soft voice cut through the silence and broke me out of my daze.

And I did.

I picked up the brush and dipped it in a light blue color and started to paint. I stood there, focusing on this calming color and just…painted. That's it.

No worries.

No pain.

Just soft brush strokes and the sound of waves braking the shore.

I got it.

I got why he made me paint.

It was relaxing and easy and lets you lose yourself.

He was going to change me while we were here, I understood that then.

I wasn't sure I liked it.

I didn't like it.

At all.

* * *

The sun set hours ago and I was still painting, going over every nook and cranny in the walls.

Going over coat after coat, trying to get it perfect, then I added small intricate (time consuming) designs against the corners.

I didn't want to talk, I didn't want to get better, and I didn't want to pretend to be some happy couple with Booth.

He can't just take me from home, work, my life, to fulfill some kind of broken daddy complex, when 3 days ago he could barely stand to be in my office.

How could he expect this to work?

He just wants control, like he always does. And if I wasn't so pissed I would recommend some serious therapy sessions for _**him**_…see how he likes that.

_He's trying to help, _I said to myself.

I groaned out loud, knowing I would stay, because even though it's romantic appeal was fading. I knew he was right. Maybe I did need some R&R, and a little reprogramming.

What could it hurt?

Granted, the changing me bit didn't settle well with me, I wasn't sure that was his complete intention…right?

_God…am I bipolar, too?_

I could see the sun setting through the windows, the smell of sea salt never seeming to get old.

I turned, to find some kind of light switch, the darkness was approaching, and just as my eyes found a switch, Booth walked back in to the room with dinner on a tray.

Perfect, as always.

He smiled at me and flipped on the light switch. He walked over and set the tray on a stack of boxes, "Hey, I brought some dinner." He said warmly, sitting down on the wooded floor.

"Yeah," I mumble, wiping my hands on a rag as I sat down across from him, "I see that."

We ate in silence, some amazingly perfect concoction, the whole time his eyes were on me.

"Did you notice when I left?" He asked, picking up my hand, and kissing my fingers.

"No," I said as I snatched my hand back from his, perfect, mouth. "And can you stop doing that?" I mumbled, finding the floor quite fascinating.

He laughed and moved closer, "Doing what?" He reached for my hand again, but I kept it by my side.

"Kissing me!" I huffed, and scooted back, only to be followed. I huffed again and scooted until my back hit the wall. But Booth started crawling towards me in a way that should have been illegal, and probably was in Utah.

"No!" I asserted, holding my hands up and made a shoving movement." Stay."

Booth looked at me with a mischievous look in his eyes that said he was planning on doing a lot of things and none of them include staying that far from me.

"Stayyy…" I said, as if speaking to a small child or a puppy. Booth gave a scoff of laughter and sat back down, quite a few feet away from me.

"You don't like it when I kiss you?" He whispered softly, but it sounded so loud to my ears. He didn't sound upset, just curious.

"No, it's not that…" I said, sighing.

"Then what?" He asked, scooting back and leaning against the wall across from me.

I relaxed, having him farther away from me, and brought one leg up to rest my head upon.

I played with tattered strings at the end of my sweatpants and started, "I get it, why I'm here. But just because it takes this romantic feel doesn't mean you have to live up to that romantic expectation. I know it's easy to succumb to that role and feeling. But I don't want you to feel like you have to be that kind of hero for me. It's fine being a friend to me right now, you don't have to go and buy the whole cow…" he chuckled at that, "Besides, I would feel much more comfortable if while, going through this experience with me, you would just be my friend. " I looked up at him and quickly looked away, his eyes were dark and intense. But I continued, "I don't know how to do the whole boyfriend thing. Or lover thing…or anything…really."

"I have intimacy issues…not to mention I don't like being touched very much…and I've only ever kissed a few people…and those weren't any hot occurrences to brag over, anyways…" I say, more to myself than to Booth. I could feel the tension coming from his side of the room. Looking back up at him, I noticed his narrowed eyes, and that he had moved closer.

I looked back down.

"Don't be mad, or offended. I appreciate what you're doing for me, and I see now that it could actually help me and get me to control things."

I heard a shuffling and lifted my head to see him standing by the door, looking at me.

"You're very attractive Seeley, you're the perfect male specimen and you're so amazing. I would be lucky to have you, but right now...I can't…I don't know if I ever can...actually. I think I lost that ability and feeling a long time ago. "

I looked up at him one last time, and this time he had a smile on his face. He walked over and grabbed the tray in front of me, and walked away. He called over his shoulder as he left, in a sweet, not at all pissed voice, "Go to bed kiddo, and be up by 9 tomorrow." The door giving a small thump as it closed behind him.

I sat there for a few more minutes, thinking about all the things I said to him and how true they were.

"This could work," I said to myself, smiling a genuine smile for the first time in a long time.

A weight had been lifted and I felt something that felt a little bit like hope take its place.

Because, yeah, this could actually work.

* * *

I'm going to go slow on this one, gonna' let it marinate a bit.

Feedback?


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